Her Song

She is a young terrified girl. A waning light in the dark A true citizen of a wrong place; A real burden to self An epitome of depression The embodiment of resentment. Eyelids glued by the pus That oozed, then clogged her vision; The flies that feast on her sore body Buzzing their ceaseless gratitude Her breath comes…tarries…returns Hope in both future and present, Squashed and vanishing She is deserted and quaking She stares into the future Laden with nothing But impossible possibilities. Amidst shame and morose She remembers a song. Not a song sung on a merry-go-round But a song her mama sang for her On days like this one. A song meant to rekindle hope When none’s left. With the last energy Still left in her frail spirit She sings the song Her mama sang for her. With the scrawny legs Dotted with scaly scars, She gets up to limp on ahead Like a blind man groping Into a world of nothingness. At first she sings with shyness. The song her mama sang for her Wakes up the courage in her chest. She hums the song with passion. Every note and every pitch and every rhythm Blowing new breath into her dying lungs Creating a new African girl. A new life is born by a song Sung by a mother To her woe-stricken child. She opens her eyes To see new horizons. She now sings for the tuxedoed In big theatres and operas. The world is too small for her name. The new girl is a fat shadow of her former self. When she sings, The world sings along. The future for her Is now laden with gifts As promised in the song Her mama sang for her.